


Only Boy Awake

by runboyrun



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Blow Jobs, F/M, First Time, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magic, Pining, Slow Burn, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 12:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14284764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runboyrun/pseuds/runboyrun
Summary: “You can’t just run through halls like that, what in the Hells is wrong with you?”Richie blinked once, twice, before focusing on the stranger above him. The breath stopped in his throat. The boy above him was slender and significantly shorter than himself. The curly ringlet hair looked golden in the torch light, his eyes - despite being angry - were as deep as the bark of the northern trees with an almost copper tone. He cradled the bird against his chest, stroking along its crown as he tore at Richie with obscenities.God, he was beautiful.





	Only Boy Awake

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to emma for letting me throw this entire idea at you via tiny half sentence messages.

The trek to Postwurth wasn’t any easier than it’d been seven years ago. The youngest of the Denbrough Lord’s naming ceremony had been the last time Richie had made the trip North, and he’d only been eleven at the time. He didn’t remember much beyond Bill making fun of how he shivered at the constant snowfall. Bill was such a dick.

The thick stone of the outer walls greeted him over the hill. Intricate carvings of massive bears were etched deep into the slabs. Nothing like the frills and wooden lattice panels surrounding the Capital. _This_ was a castle, his mother be damned.

“Prince Richard,” The poor bastard who’d been assigned to guard him began. He sounded nervous. Good; easier to get away from.

Richie’s feet sank into the snow as he swung himself off his horse. The air stung his nose as he took a deep breath before booming across the open grounds, “William Denbrough! I’ve come for your head!”

“You’ll never take him alive!” A childish voice called back, a blond tuft of hair barely visible over the wooden railing of the walkway above him. A tiny fist raised to the heavens.

“It’s hard to take someone alive when you’ve come for their head.” Richie agreed, smile splitting his face and the toothless grin of Georgie Denbrough.

“L-l-leave him alone, G-Georgie.” Bill answered, coming up behind the child. His soft look didn’t match his tone.

Bill was one of, if not the best, warriors of the North. He’d had to go South to be knighted two summers before. His work with a sword was unparalleled but all the beanstalk of a boy had wanted was to be home. No one really liked the Capital. No one _chose_ to live there.

The flurry of chaos that was Lord Georgie Denbrough was enough to make anyone want to return to his side. The child took the steps a concerning three at a time as he catapulted himself into Richie’s arms. Georgie had had two arms last Richie had seen him. The right sleeve was pinned and sewn shut, folded carefully up to where a stump must’ve been. His guard gripped his sword for only an instant before Richie held a hand up to dismiss him.

Richie hadn’t actually seen Georgie since he was blessed by the Gods as George William Denbrough and that had been before the babe could lift his own head. Richie was almost worried how open and warm the little Lord was, but the gaps in his smile and shine in his eyes just made Richie smile back.

“S-So… Your Grace,” Bill began with a raised brow.

“Don’t even,” Richie begged with a whine. He hated ‘Your Grace’; it implied he should be something close to resembling graceful.

“What brings you t-to our home?”

“Your stutter’s improved,” Richie answered instead.

“I helped him.” Georgie said, craning his neck to look for approval in Richie’s face. “We practice every day.”

“That’s great, Georgie!” Richie said, lifting the boy to balance on his hip.

Georgie fiddled with the lacing of Richie’s tunic; his red and gold looked overly ornate among the grays and deep browns of House Denbrough. The only color Bill wore was a heavy navy scarf, Georgie matched him. They had the crest of the Ursus Arctos stitched into a leather band the held the scarf in place atop their robes. It was odd to see a child as young as Georgie in leather armor, but clearly not everyone lived as softly as the diplomats of the Capital.

Richie carried Georgie back into the main hall of the castle. His guard tried to follow but Georgie had looked wary of the scowling man. Richie sent him away to deal with luggage and took off with the two boys before the idiot could turn back around. Georgie filled the walk with chatter and unending praise of Bill. The older brother looked close to blushing, Richie loved it.

“Am I not as great as Big Bill?” Richie asked with mock offense.

“Nope,” Georgie said easily from where his head rested on Richie’s shoulder.

“G-Georgie!” Bill scolded over Richie’s bark of laughter.

“You said not to lie.” Georgie shot back with a pout.

“Yeah, Bill,” Richie snickered, “Don’t tell him lying is okay. What kind of brother are you?”

“The best kind.” Georgie answered without hesitation. “He built me a boat.”

“A real one?” Richie asked, looking to Bill over Georgie’s soft hair.

“T-t-the,” Richie noticed how Georgie never cut in to finish Bill’s sentences like a lot of the people in his court would. “Saint G-Georgie.” Bill finally spit out.

“It’s wood!” Georgie exclaimed, pawing at Richie’s chest to get him to look at him. “Wood like the ships in the bay at the Capital, Bill told me!”

“Georgie,” Bill warned, eyes looking around the empty hall for any nosy handmaids. Guess they had those everywhere.

House Denbrough owned the North because of their trees. The wood was tough as steel when tempered, perfect for forts where moving stone was too laborious. The spears and bows were supple with a flexibility to them but could take more hits from a blade than any other options. If Bill had taken some from the Crown to build a child’s boat, whether or not he was the next Lord of Postwurth, was a federal offense.

Georgie seemed to pick up on the sudden tension, looking between Richie and Bill with slowly growing eyes. He was a child, probably didn’t understand the stronghold House Tozier had over the Kingdom. How Richie could sentence Bill without trial. How Bill could be taken away without a moment’s notice if treason to the Crown was discovered for public execution.

They didn’t live in a fair Kingdom. Humanity has always been pushed aside in times of war.

Richie finally found his voice before the overwhelmed tears in Georgie’s eyes could spill.

“Well, you’re lucky you have such a great big brother.” Richie said with a smile, pinching Georgie’s cheek. “Can you steer it alone?”

“Ben Hanscom d-designed it,” Bill answered quietly, still on edge at Georgie’s unintentional confession. “Before he… w-w-went away.”

Before he abandoned his House. Running away with Lady Marsh after the sudden death of her father. Lord Marsh had always been a... questionable sort. Richie knew he was foul. His wife had reported it an accident, but a cracked open skull had hardly seemed the work of chance. Richie had met Beverly enough to know he'd had it coming. Bill could be hanged for making his brother something he could feel independent in; but no one would dare accuse Alvin Marsh of abuse.

The house was to be merged with House Hanscom, but both heirs had suddenly vanished. Beverly had been arranged to marry Richie; but he would never hold her at fault for leaving her Hell behind. He _would_ , however, blame her for why he had to be in the North now.

“He always was clever,” Richie agreed easily, “He was at your naming too, Georgie.”

“It’s a big stick,” Georgie explained with a seven year old’s understanding of engineering. “You turn the stick and the whole sail moves. I don’t need two hands to do it. I can do it all by myself.”

“That’s amazing, Georgie.” Richie said with a smile, “Let’s keep this boat a secret, huh?”

Georgie, though young, picked up enough from Bill’s tense face to agree with a small nod.

“Good,” Richie said before setting him back down. “Your brother forgot to get bread and salt, could you run to the kitchen and grab it?”

Georgie’s little legs took off down the hall, delighted with a chance to impress Bill. Richie knew he’d be offered stay at dusk, right before the feast, but Bill needed a chance to breathe without upsetting his brother.

The moment the door clicked shut Bill collapsed to a bench, running a hand through his bone straight auburn hair. Richie sat next to him. Their posture would’ve gotten them a switch from a Matron, but for the moment they let themselves be their age.

“I’m not going to report you.” Richie said.

“I know.” Bill answered softly. Richie felt Bill’s shoulder brush his own and slumped against him.

“He’s bigger than I thought he’d be. Georgie, I mean.” Richie chuckled, “I’m surprised you could keep me as updated as you did. Not a lot of ravens up here, can’t imagine they like to fly in that wind.”

“S-S-Stanley has a w-way with them.”

“Stanley?”

“You’ll meet him eventually,” Bill shrugged, moving Richie’s head with his shoulder. “Did you w-want to talk about w-why you’re here?”

Richie thought about avoiding it, letting himself sit in the comfortable warmth of the fire in the hall and Bill at his side.

But, he was the Crown Prince. And this was nothing short of an arrangement.

"So... Lady Keene."

"G-Greta, yeah.”

Richie opened his mouth several times before settling on a sardonic smile, "Is she pretty?”

"N-not on the inside."

They both laughed.

"Am I going to need to get a bucket?"

"She's... b-buh-boyish in stature last I saw."

Richie's neck prickled at that. The summer two years before still fell to the front of his mind when he let it.

“When does she get here?”

“F-five days, maybe.” Bill responded, leaning further into Richie like he can _feel_ his hesitancy.

“That long?” Richie was hoping for this to be done faster; less time to dwell on the sentencing if they’d just drop the sword.

“Your fa - the King didn’t send a raven until a few days ago,” Bill sighed, “W-We’ve been scrambling for your arrival. I thought his Majesty w-would be here with you.”

“Like he’d step away from the war room for even a moment,” Richie snorted, “He’s a few days trip behind me, at least. He’ll probably show up for the last of negotiations.”

“How g-goes the war?”

“It certainly goes.” Richie answered, voice deep and raspy like his father’s. Bill snorted a laugh.

The _war_ was nothing short of a massacre on both sides, but that wasn’t something Bill needed to hear. He didn’t need to choose between Georgie and the masses.

“How about you go find your little monster of a sibling?” Richie said, finally rising, “I’m going to retire until dinner. Stomach this whole situation one more time.”

“He’s n-n-not a monster,” Bill laughed.

“You’re right, nothing short of an angel.” Richie ruffled Bill’s hair, dropping a kiss to the skewed locks for old time’s sake. Bill had brought it up, Richie might as well exploit while he could.

The Prince was out the door before Bill could do more than squawk in protest.

The echoing of his boots through the empty halls was deafeningly loud. There wasn’t a handmaid or attendant in sight. Bill must not have been kidding, the entire castle had gone into their own tasks to impress the Crown Prince that didn’t want to be there.

But, by the Gods it was pretty. The snow fell like small clouds all in their own until they formed into powdered lumps across the field. The trees stood taller than the walls of the fortress, deep ebony trunks with thick bushels of leaves. The footprints from his entry just this morning were diluted into soft pockets in the pristine white landscape. By dinner they’d be gone.

Even with the fortress around him, it almost felt like man couldn’t harm this place. Couldn’t tear it with war and secrecy.

His hopeful notion was squashed with the heavy footfalls and rattling metal of the Kingsguard. Their lack of finesse off a battlefield was unmistakable. Richie, not fucking keen on having a lumbering and usually rude shadow, took off down the hall.

The problem with taking off in castle Richie hadn’t been in since he was eleven, was that he didn’t know where he was going. Right, left, right, left - on and on. The steps behind him were growing fainter - Richie was quick on his feet, making up for his lack of strength.

The boy turned to look over his shoulder, if he could figure out where he was he could _probably_ find Bill or Georgie’s chambers -

“Ah!”

Richie slammed headlong into a now groaning body on the floor. A raven was flapping its wings into Richie’s face, swiping feathers across his nose and mouth and he sputtered.

The bird was scooped off of him with a scathing voice, “You can’t just run through halls like that, what in the Hells is wrong with you?”

Richie blinked once, twice, before focusing on the stranger above him. The breath stopped in his throat. The boy above him was slender and significantly shorter than himself. The ringlet hair that practically floated on his head looked golden in the torch light, his eyes - despite being angry - were as deep as the bark of the northern trees with an almost copper tone. He cradled the bird against his chest, stroking along its crown as he tore at Richie with obscenities.

God, he was beautiful.

“And another thing how can you - “ The boy finally looked away from his fowl ward, eyes widening like saucers as his words clogged in his throat. “You’re the Crown Prince.”

“Yes,” Richie swallowed, “Hi.”

The boy in front of him bowed his lips like remorse, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Richie was nothing short of _delighted,_ who the fuck was this?

“I’d say I was sorry,”

“But you’re not?” Richie guessed, smile growing on his stunned face.

The attempt at remorse turned into a pout, “You hurt Amadeus.”

“A-Amadeus?”

“Well now you sound like Bill.” The boy tittered, scritching along the nape of the bird’s neck as he nodded his head to him. “This is Amadeus.”

“Sorry, Amadeus.” Richie mumbled, eyes still on the boy’s face as he stood. The boy stood as well, Richie had nearly a whole head on him.

The stomp of the Kingsguard approached once more. The panic on Richie’s face must’ve sprung the other boy into action. He grabbed Richie by the elbow and pulled them into the door he’d just exited.

The door led to an absurdly narrow stairwell. The two boys were nearly chest to chest as they stood in silence, waiting for the guard to pass. The only light was in a window at least twenty stepS above them.

Despite that, Richie could see a flush spreading across the pale complexion of the boy a breath away from him. He prayed the boy’s eyesight was somehow worse from his angle and couldn’t see the heat on Richie’s own cheeks.

“So,” Richie muttered, eyes anywhere but the boy in front of him. “You’re awfully forward with nobility.”

“I - shit,” He began.

“I’m joking,” Richie promised, meeting the panic in his eyes to try and fix his stupid comment. “I was joking.”

“Bill said you had a habit of that.” The blond mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

The silence lulled between them, and Richie felt a laugh bubbling in his throat. Chest to chest with a cute boy in the dark.

“What’s your name?” Richie finally asked.

The boy paused, looking at Richie for a moment longer before trying to bow - whether reflex or because he knew his forehead would knock Richie’s chest, he couldn’t be sure. Richie smiled at his tittering laugh regardless.

“Stanley,” He said, voice soft, “Stanley Uris.”

**Author's Note:**

> i've never done a multichapter before, but hopefully this won't suck.
> 
> please leave comment, let me know what you think.


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